


Sisyphean Task

by Myrime



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel
Genre: College, Don't copy to another site, Friendship, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, MIT Era, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Sacrifice, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 04:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: “Sometimes I don’t want to be sober ever again,” Tony says quietly. “It’s easier like that.”What a world they live in, Rhodey thinks, that he has to teach Tony Stark about love.





	Sisyphean Task

**Author's Note:**

> Another entry for the [Iron Man Bingo 2019 Round 2](https://iron-man-bingo.tumblr.com/), square: Self-Sacrifice.
> 
> I'm interpreting the prompt rather loosely. But I've done the whole classic self-sacrifice thing in [don't let the blue sky fade.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532051/chapters/43923106)
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony is so vibrant, so used to hiding behind glittering masks, that it is impossible for the casual observer to notice when something is wrong with him. Rhodey is not that anymore. For a year now, they have been best friends. Still, the cracks in Tony’s composure show themselves only gradually.

The first thing Boston’s students learned about Tony Stark is that he is young and rich and smart enough to leave them all in the dust. The second is that he is the life of every party, unmatched in his ability to drink and please any crowd. Rhodey is disgusted by that right up until he is worried.

The trick, Rhodey eventually learns, is to keep Tony distracted, to turn the alcohol into nothing more than an afterthought – and to throw out the people who only want to use Tony. Which, admittedly, is a Sisyphean task at college.

Coincidentally, the first time Rhodey wonders whether Tony is not hiding more cracks than previously thought is during a party.

By the time Rhodey arrives, everybody is already drunk. He stands in the foyer, letting the pounding music wash over him, making his skin vibrate as if it has a life of its own, and wonders whether it would not be better to call it a night. Arriving late means to put in twice the effort to have fun.

He has no time to come to a decision, though, because that is when Tony finds him. His eyes are as wild as his hair, and his clothes are in disarray, buttoned up wrong and with lipstick stains adorning his collar.

“Platypus,” he calls, his lips fitting clumsily around the newest nickname in an embarrassingly long line of them. “I saved a bottle for you somewhere.”

_A bottle_ could mean everything from bear to the most expensive whiskey the store around the corner has to offer. Sometimes, it does not seem that Tony discriminates between what he pours down his throat as long as he has a bottleneck to hold in his hand.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Rhodey shouts back over the music. “Maybe get a glass of water for you too.”

Suddenly, Tony is much too close, pressing himself against Rhodey’s chest in a clumsy attempt of an embrace. When he backs away, it is only far enough that he can look up better at Rhodey.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Rhodey.” Eyes growing brighter, he adds, “Let’s just not be ourselves tonight.”

With that, he grips Rhodey’s hand and pulls him off deeper into the house.

“Wait,” Rhodey says, “what do you mean by that?”

It is such a strange phrasing that something cold unfurls behind Rhodey’s sternum. He is not yet drunk so he cannot make sense of a drunk’s words. Perhaps the surroundings alone have him not sober enough either to decipher Tony.

He is pretty sure either the music or Tony’s ability to ignore everything he does not want to hear drown out his words. Surprisingly, Tony turns briefly back to him.

“What I said,” Tony replies cheekily. The way his eyes glisten and how wide they are, Rhodey thinks it might be not just alcohol running through his friend’s system. “Come on. This is our night.”

The night for what? Senseless revelry with a side dish of abandoning their selves?

“What are you drinking?” Rhodey questions, planting himself firmly in the foyer so that Tony tugs uselessly at his hand. “Did you take anything from anyone?”

It would not have been the first time – to _experiment_ or to _relieve stress, come on, Rhodey, you’re not that boring when it comes to building robots_.

In front of him, Tony rolls his eyes, which somehow makes him lose balance. Rhodey steadies him without having to think about it.

“I’m not on drugs,” Tony says slowly, enunciating each word as if that is a ridiculous notion, as if there is no reason to worry about him. Ever. “I’m just not Tony Stark tonight. You should try it, Platypus. Lift those lips. Dance with me.”

Confused, Rhodey lets himself be pulled into half a twirl before he regains control of his senses and stops. He wants to say something, wants to dissect Tony’s statement, but Tony, sighing dramatically, lets go of him.

Too late to hold him back, Rhodey has to watch Tony disappear into the moving mass of drunk students filling the house. When he attempts to follow, the bodies form a wall before him, seemingly impossible to part. For the moment, Rhodey does not remembers how to navigate places like this.

He needs to find Tony, needs to talk to him about this. It might have been just a throw-away comment, but added to the more-than-usual unhinged behaviour, Rhodey feels like he should worry.

A drink does sound right now, though. Just one to get his thoughts flowing again. Tony will likely only talk to him when he comes to him smiling, and he is sure he will not be able to do that sober.

Shaking his head, Rhodey makes his way to the kitchen. The next morning, he barely remembers that they talked about anything that night.

* * *

Tony in a suit always looks like a completely different person. The clothes are immaculate and tailored to Tony’s exact size. Considering that Rhodey is used to Tony wearing over-sized sweaters with his hair sticking up wildly, sitting barefoot on the ground, working on whatever new project his crazy mind has come up with, seeing this slick and controlled version of him is like stumbling over a stranger in their dorm.

Even worse is the reluctance Rhodey feels at the prospect of coming in. Tony is his best friend, but he is also inhabiting two very different worlds and Rhodey only fits into one of them.

When Tony notices him, he looks up with a smile so very different from his usual blinding grins. Looking like this, Tony never shows much emotion.

“What’s going on?” Rhodey asks as he finally steps into the room. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

“Obie called,” Tony answers, his tone precise, polished. “They need me for a press conference.”

Those happen sometimes but rarely. Usually, Howard and Stane are happy to let Tony be as long as he does not cause too much bad press. Rhodey does not remember any of that happening lately, and yet Tony’s expression is grimmer than usual when he gets called away for these things.

“Don’t you have people for that?”

Rhodey has met the frazzled woman in charge of PR for Stark Industries once when she was briefing Tony on what to say and how to say it. Rhodey would not want to change places with her, especially not since she has to coach Tony Stark on things he has known for longer than she has had the job.

“It helps if I go out there and play the genius kid every once in a while,” Tony says in a flat voice. He is checking his tie’s knot in the mirror, calloused hands running over the smooth cloth. It is already perfect, which means that Tony is stalling.

“When do you need to leave?” Rhodey asks, stepping closer to keep Tony from ruining the knot again.

Looking up at him, Tony’s small smile turns wry. “Ten minutes ago.”

That is all the confirmation Rhodey needs. “What’s wrong?” he asks and pulls Tony towards the bed, pushing him down to sit on the mattress.

As much as Tony likes designing things, he does not seem to like Stark Industries very much. Perhaps that is just about his father, though.

Tony raises his hand as if to run it through his hair but remembers at the last moment that he should not mess it up. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose. Then he glares at his hand as if it is responsible for the nervous gesture.

“I’m just not myself out there,” Tony says with a shrug, somehow making this sound nonchalant. “Sometimes it’s hard to get back to that.”

Rhodey thinks he knows what Tony means. If a camera is trained on him, all of Tony’s smiles become wider but more artificial, never reaching his eyes. He gestures less but more sharply, does not let himself be caught in talking about something he actually likes.

“I guess being yourself is not an option then?” Rhodey asks, despite knowing the answer. Despite them being best friends, Rhodey is still getting blocked by Tony’s masks and deflections every now and then. He is not going to let strangers get a peek at himself.

Tony snorts without much amusement. “I doubt Obie meant for me to make things worse.”

That sits wrong with Rhodey, it always does when Tony talks about himself with disdain. He has not yet found an effective cure for that, however.

“You’re not a bad person, Tones,” Rhodey says, wishing he could make Tony believe how much he means that.

“You only think that because I’ve conditioned you to like me by brining you the good coffee instead of the grovel from downstairs,” Tony replies dryly. A little bit more life returns into his features, making Rhodey inwardly congratulate himself.

He still remains serious. “You can’t buy my good opinion of you with coffee.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Tony gets up, face smoothing over again. “One day you’ll wake up and wonder what you’ve been thinking.”

Rendered speechless, Rhodey cannot do anything but stare for a long moment, trying to find the kind of argument that not even Tony Stark can brush away and turn against himself.

“That’s nonsense,” bursts over Rhodey’s lips with none of the eloquence he has been grasping for. Being faced with this Tony, Rhodey feels utterly helpless. “I’m not in for the money or the coffee or anything else. Just for you.”

For a second, it looks like Tony’s expression is going to crumble, like they can have a real conversation about this. Then a car honks twice, causing Tony to be replaced by _Stark_, unreadable and sharp-edged enough to cut anyone getting too close.

“And who’s that?” Tony asks, flippant and careless. Turning towards the door, he smooths down his suit. It is obvious he does not intent to give Rhodey the time to answer. “Gotta go. See you tonight. Probably.”

“Definitely,” Rhodey corrects with determination. He is worries by this sudden turn in their conversation and by how easily Tony hides himself away. “We’re going to have a talk about this.”

Tony flashes him a grin, as bright as it is false. “Definitely.”

Then, without another word, he strides out of the door, leaving Rhodey behind with his thoughts.

The next time they see each other, Tony is already drunk. He lost his jacket somewhere but is still wearing his good shirt, wrinkled now and with unidentifiable stains on it. He is dancing with abandon in a stranger’s dorm room, seemingly noticing nothing of his surroundings.

The whole dorm appears to be present, riled up by a surprise party nobody knew they needed tonight. It could all be a coincidence that the night Rhodey wanted to talk about something serious, everybody is up and drunk, filling the air with chaos. When his eyes meet Tony’s, there is no mistaking the flicker of guilt on his face, though. Nor can it be called anything other than avoidance, the way Tony seems to slip through Rhodey’s fingers every time they come even remotely close to each other.

They do _not_ talk that night, nor any of the following ones because Tony keeps himself busy with project and extra credits. He probably thinks he is being subtle about it. He is not, but Rhodey gets the message anyway. Tony does not want to talk and Rhodey will not push him into it.

Neither will he forget about it.

* * *

Their apartment is dark when Rhodey comes home. That in itself is not really surprising and Rhodey would not think anything about it if he had not gone by the lab on the way here after Tony has missed all of their classes this day. The latter is not really uncommon, but he is usually found working those days, never noticing how much time passes by while concentrating on his projects. Sometimes, Rhodey envies Tony’s ability to focus so completely on one thing, never coming up for air until it is done. Mostly, though, is means more work for him.

“Tony?” he calls as he pulls the door close behind him.

There is no answer, but that does not have to mean anything. Turning on the light, Rhodey walks into their apartment. In the kitchen, he finds an assortment of bottles on their counter, some half-empty, some tipped over. All of them, without exception, are expensive and contain alcohol.

Tony was home then. As much as the Stark Mansion can be described as home. Rhodey has never been there, has only seen pictures and listened to Tony’s stories about it, but that is enough for him to dislike it intensely. Mostly, he does not like the person it turns Tony into.

Hastening his steps, Rhodey walks down the hallway to Tony’s room. He knocks but does not wait for an answer. Tony and alcohol is not a good mixture. He can drain bottle after bottle and never show any signs of being drunk – but only if he has to perform. Afterwards, when they are home, Tony usually crashes and only Rhodey is there to catch him.

The room is dark too, but the light from the hallway is enough to illuminate Tony’s figure, sitting on the ground, back to the bed, clinging to a bottle, never looking up at the intrusion.

“Go away,” Tony says. His voice is hoarse, quiet. If it is supposed to be a demand, Tony does not have the energy to actually turn it into one.

Rhodey ignores it anyway. “I think you’ve had enough.” He steps into the room but does not go directly towards Tony.

He has learned the hard way that, sometimes, Tony might speak and interact with him without actually registering his presence, causing him to flinch at sudden movements or at simply realizing that Rhodey has come too close. That is a hard thing to know about his best friend, but where it might have put him off once, it only makes Rhodey’s protectiveness worse.

“Go,” Tony repeats sharper. “I’m not myself tonight.” He blinks up at Rhodey and manages to hold his cold expression for barely a breath before he crumbles. Dropping his gaze, he pulls the bottle closer to himself. “Or wait, maybe I am. Maybe this is all I am.”

For a long moment, Rhodey is at a loss. True enough, Tony does not look like himself. There is nothing of the sharp edges of Tony Stark in him, full of confidence and smirks and brilliance, and nothing of the softness of Tones, vibrating with slightly manic energy, heart full of kindness. There is a shapeless tiredness to him now, misery given form.

Going closer, Rhodey crouches. He keeps all of his movements slow. “Tony,” he says as firmly as he manages, “look at me.”

Tony shakes his head, focusing on the bottle with all the intent he seems able to muster. Without warning, Rhodey reaches out and pulls the bottle from Tony’s grip. They struggle for a minute, both locked to the cool glass. Then Rhodey takes his free hand to gently pry Tony’s fingers loose, Tony gives in with a sigh.

When he puts the bottle behind him, out of Tony’s reach, Rhodey has to fight to urge to take a swig himself. It looks like there is a difficult conversation ahead of them, and as much as Rhodey might want some liquid courage for it, one of them should have a clear a head for it.

“You should go, Rhodey,” Tony says before Rhodey had a chance to think of how to begin. “I’m not good for you. Howard said that. I ruin everything I touch. Don’t let me ruin you.”

Familiar anger uncurls in Rhodey’s chest. Every mention of Howard Stark tends to irritate him, but the combination of the conviction in Tony’s voice and the general situation has Rhodey skipping right past that into feeling murderous.

“You won’t ruin me,” Rhodey says slowly, needing Tony to understand that before he can ask any questions. “You’ve made my life so much brighter. That’s what you do with everything.”

Something tears itself from Tony’s throat that is probably supposed to be laughter. It comes out warbled, making the hairs in Rhodey’s neck stand up like the sound of nails on a blackboard would.

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony spats, sounding upset.

“I don’t,” Rhodey counters immediately. He feels very much out of depth. “I promised you that, remember? First semester? I told you I’d never be one of those people who’d lie to get into your good graces. We’re friends.”

If possible, Tony’s expression gets even sourer at the mention of friendship. “You deserve so much better.”

“Funny, because I think that should be my decision,” Rhodey replies, perhaps harsher than necessary, but it gets Tony to listen. His eyes are wide and dark when he trains them on Rhodey, but he returns the gaze unflinchingly. “And I want to keep my best friend, even if he sometimes drinks himself through his father’s liquor cabinet and has serious self-worth issues.”

Tony’s hand spasms, gripping tight around thing air. He opens his mouth as if to ask for his bottle back but thinks better of it after one glance at Rhodey’s expression. Instead, his shoulders slump further. 

“It’s not an issue if it’s true,” Tony mutters under his breath, grimacing at the sound of his own voice.

Rhodey scoffs. “That doesn’t even make sense.” Since there is no use to discussing that now – he has tried before, a dozen times – he gets to his feet, offering his hand to Tony. “Here, let me help you up, and then I’ll get you to bed.”

Likely trying to swat the hand away, Tony misses by several inches. “I don’t –”

“Shh, Tony, you’re drunk,” Rhodey cuts him off. Grabbing Tony’s hand himself, he pulls him up and deposits him on the mattress. “The alcohol makes you feel more miserable than you are. We’ll talk once you’ve sobered up.”

Rhodey crouches down again to pull Tony’s shoes off. When Tony expectedly tries to kick him, he dodges the weak attempt easily. Tony likes being cared for even less than being told he is wrong about something, especially himself.

“Sometimes I don’t want to be sober ever again,” Tony says quietly. “It’s easier like that.”

Judging on Tony’s tone and the way he stares up at the ceiling, Rhodey is almost certain he was not supposed to hear that. That does not stop him from coming up and sitting down next to Tony on the bed.

“It’s not,” he argues vehemently, wishing any of his words would actually register with Tony the way they are meant. “You’re Tony Stark. You don’t hide. If things are bad, you’ll make them better.”

That is what Rhodey has likes about Tony from the beginning, even when he was still just the rich, white kid treating MIT like his personal playground. No matter what problem is put before Tony, he finds a way to solve it, to make any broken thing work, and better than ever before.

Which is why Rhodey wants to find whoever messed up Tony’s self-confidence and ruin theirs. More than ever when Tony says, in an impossibly small voice, “I can’t.”

Toning down his temper, Rhodey argues, “Oh, you can. If you think you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me until you can.” Much gentler, he adds, “I’ll be there for you.”

Tony is silent for a long moment. His breathing is loud as if he has to consciously remind himself that his lungs need air. He stares down at his lap until he pulls up his feet, making himself small. With visible effort, he looks up.

“You’re my best friend, Rhodey.”

The seriousness of that remark breaks Rhodey’s heart a little because it is still lacking confidence, ends almost as a question.

“And you’re mine,” Rhodey replies firmly, leaving no doubt that he means it. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I don’t,” Tony answers quickly, then bites his lower lip. His eyes stray from Rhodey again, making him look embarrassed. “I mean, I’m myself with you. I never am anywhere else. So – thank you?”

This is not the first time Tony has said something like that. _I’m not myself out there. Let’s not be ourselves for once. I’m not myself tonight._ Rhodey has noticed it before, but never has it come with such an urgency, like time is running out.

“You don’t owe the world anything, Tones, and I happen to love who you are,” Rhodey says, looking at Tony until he looks back. Deciding that Tony does not look so spooked anymore that bodily contact will make things worse, Rhodey reaches out and outs his hand over Tony’s, which is gripping his knees. “We’ll work on that, promise?”

A small grin pulls at Tony’s lips. It is lopsided and does not quite reach his eyes, but Rhodey decides to count it as a good sign anyway.

“You shouldn’t let drunk people promise anything,” Tony says. He is obviously deflecting, but his lids are drooping and the tension is bleeding out of him, making him slump into Rhodey’s side.

“I’ll ask you again in the morning,” Rhodey offers, making it almost into a threat. “But let me warn you now, I won’t accept _no_ as an answer.”

Giving up the fight to stay upright, Tony melts completely into Rhodey, letting his head fall against Rhodey’s shoulder.

“I love you, Rhodey,” he mutters, stumbling a bit over the words. Rhodey knows that is not because he does not mean them, but because he is unused to saying them.

“I know,” Rhodey says, smiling down at his best friend. “We just need to get you to love yourself a little too.”

What a world they live in, Rhodey thinks, that he has to teach Tony Stark about love. That is a task that could take his entire life, he is aware of that. There is no doubt in his mind, however, that it will be worth it. The things Tony creates when he is driven by guilt are magnificent. Rhodey can hardly imagine how much brighter the world will be once Tony starts shaping it with love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
